


With Zero Power

by ForASecondThereWedWon



Series: Spidey-shots, Spidey-shots, now they're done, thanks a lot <3 [60]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Candles, Couch Sex, Established Relationship, F/M, Flirting, Fluff and Smut, Holidays, Huddling For Warmth, Power Outage, Prompt Fic, Seduction, Snow, Tumblr Prompt, the inherent classism of the commercialized holiday season! but in like a cute bantering way!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:40:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27844642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForASecondThereWedWon/pseuds/ForASecondThereWedWon
Summary: Peter and MJ return from skating to find their apartment not quite how they left it. Between the warm fuzzies of the evening they've spent together and the holidays right around the corner, it isn't hard to find a little romance in the situation.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Series: Spidey-shots, Spidey-shots, now they're done, thanks a lot <3 [60]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1368034
Comments: 26
Kudos: 99
Collections: Twelve Days of Promptmas





	With Zero Power

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spidermanhomecomeme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spidermanhomecomeme/gifts).



> Merry Promptmas! This fic's prompts are: **winter power outage** \+ **holiday smut** \+ **"I can think of one way to warm you up."**

“I’m not saying it wasn’t beautiful,” MJ insists, “but think how much lighting a tree that size costs. With the number of homeless slowly starving in this city? With the number of children below the poverty line who are going to school in this weather—” The arm she waves is instantly layered in thick, wet snowflakes that glisten as they pass beneath a streetlight. “—without winter coats and boots?”

“With the number of college students trying to make rent with only their girlfriend to live with because their three previous roommates staged a mutiny and forced the couple out because the volume of their nighttime activities was, quote, ‘obnoxiously loud and unprecedentedly lengthy’?”

She sighs in exasperation.

“I’m making a point.”

“I agree with your point,” Peter says. “Completely. I already told May I’m volunteering with her all next weekend, and I’ll call Pepper tomorrow to see where she’s committed Stark Industries’ holiday donations.”

“And ask her to triple the amount.”

“I can suggest it,” he laughs, “but I’m not her financial advisor.”

“Mmm you should be though,” MJ says, shifting from holding his gloved hand to pulling his arm around her. “You’re so sexy when you’re redistributing the amassed wealth of a late billionaire.”

There are icy crystals glimmering in her eyelashes. She’s beautiful. He could walk the borough with her all night, live in a loop where they’ve always just disembarked from a late bus, disoriented to step from its stark light into the soft glow of the snow on sidewalks that aren’t cleared with the same diligence as they are in Manhattan, around Rockefeller Center, where they’ve spent the evening skating. That would be a nice life—tonight, with her, forever.

Peter halts them for a moment and wraps his other arm around her too, pulling his girlfriend in to kiss her. He sways them as he does it, smiling against her mouth, her cold nose pressed into his cheek.

“Did you have a good time though?” he asks. MJ nods and her face rubs against his.

“My rental skates were a little tight, but I did wear two pairs of socks, so it’s kinda my fault.”

He has a new pair of skates for her, exactly the right size, but they’re wrapped in red paper featuring dogs with candy cane antlers, waiting to be snuck beneath her tiny artificial tree on Christmas morning. A totally outrageous gift—figure skates in immaculate white leather, like she wears in the pictures he’s seen of her at childhood skating lessons—but he hates it when all his money goes to rent. This might finally be the gift to make her cry. He’s cracked the bottle that stores his girlfriend’s tenderest feelings before, making her eyes shine the winter he knit her a terrible, uneven scarf (she’s wearing it now), and he’s certain the skates will be the thing she really loves. She’ll cry with joy, she’ll say they’re too much, he’ll carry her from the little tree to bed and keep her there until she’s begging for _more_ instead of less. The thought makes Peter grin now.

“Take a bath when we get home. Your feet will feel better.”

“They’d feel better if you carried me,” MJ suggests slyly.

But she screeches when he jerks her against him and, in the relative darkness of their street, looses a web, swinging them both into the air. They pretend it’s still a secret how much she’s grown to love the sensation of sailing through the night with him. What Peter is far from secretive about is how much he loves the way she clings to him, trying not to feel too guilty when he remembers he should attribute some portion of her grip to the time he dropped her. Ah well, it’s in the past. His girlfriend’s laughing shakily as he lands them on the roof of their building and crawls deftly down the wall to the fire escape.

“Cute,” she says, shivering with the aftereffects of cold winter air whipping around her face. The tone is both complimentary and accusatory. “But we have to climb down now, unless…”

MJ’s eyes narrow.

“I… might’ve left the window unlocked?” he asks, because asking implies someone else has the answer, that there is a buck to be passed, as much as he would simultaneously like to hang on to any spare bucks during this expensive season.

“Peter, you can’t _do_ that. You know break-ins are more frequent during the holidays.”

“Yeah,” he allows, edging the window open, “but who’s gonna climb up to the twenty-second floor to try to get through our window?”

He dives inside, then helps her through. The proof that she had a good time tonight is that she lets the window thing drop. Peter shuts and locks the window as loudly as possible behind them.

“Didn’t we leave a light on?” she asks.

“I’m not—”

“When I say that,” MJ cuts him off, dropping her voice to a hiss, “I mean I _know_ I left a light on.”

Instantly, he’s stepping around her, keeping his arm out to hold her behind him. She has a bad habit of going rogue in dangerous situations. More likely than not, she’d grab a kitchen knife and end up stabbing him by accident as they checked every room for intruders. Safer for him to lead.

But it’s not a break-in.

“It’s cold in here,” he realizes.

As they moved through the small number of rooms that make up their hideously overpriced apartment, they left the lights off. Now, MJ smacks at the closest wall switch. Nothing happens.

“Aw, come on,” Peter begs the overhead light. He tries a lamp. _Click-click_ , _click-click_. Nothin’. “Man!”

“Fucking Rockefeller Christmas tree,” his girlfriend accuses, though it’s not possible that even an energy-suck of that size could drain their building, way out in Queens. “I’m not having a bath now. I’ll be freezing when I get out.”

“Ok. Let’s get some candles first.” Peter starts to walk away from her, down the hall. “MJ, where are the candles?”

With his enhanced vision, he can see her well enough to catch the eyeroll. Fair.

By the time they have a dozen candles lit, it smells like every holiday scent at once. Vanilla smudges cloyingly across the sharper sweetness of candied orange peel, the heaviness of pine battles the richness of milk chocolate, and the cinnamon that seems to have been included in every candle is giving Peter a headache until they agree to space their light sources out. The room is darker with the candles far apart, but the smell is bearable. He also doesn’t mind how the flames catch in MJ’s eyes when she blinks, how a streak of gold will dart across her throat when she turns her head to watch him watching her.

Peter’s mouth is dry when he stammers out, “Y-you look incredible,” like they’re sixteen again and he’s got his gaze fixed on her legs because it’s 90° and she very reasonably wore shorts to school.

“How I _feel_ is cold,” she admits with a small smile. She stirs under the blanket that’s draped across both of them. He strokes her shoulder over her wool cardigan. “I really was looking forward to that bath.”

And because the way she says it sounds nothing like how a person might casually look forward to anything, Peter swells a little in his jeans and shifts his legs closer to hers.

“Were you?” he asks.

MJ’s gaze goes from his mouth to his eyes as she smirks subtly. She knows she’s got him. When does she _not_ have him? The complaints of their former roommates were undeniably valid. It’s a miracle he and MJ accomplished enough in undergrad to even get accepted into grad school. If she hadn’t been the responsible one, he would’ve been pretty damn content to spend those four years in bed with her.

Innocently, she rests her head on his shoulder. He swallows thickly.

“Mhmm. I was looking forward to getting out of my cold clothes. I was looking forward to grabbing a big, thick—” She grips his thigh suddenly. “—towel from the closet to wrap myself in when I was done. I was looking forward to using my cranberry bodywash in the tub. That one smells really good, right?”

Peter nods because forming a sentence in this moment is beyond him.

“And it foams up really well,” MJ continues, tilting her face, passing her lips lightly across his earlobe. He’s hard. He’s so fucking hard so quickly. “So, I was looking forward to popping those bubbles when I ran my hands all over my body to work it in.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Peter groans. He digs his fingers into her waist, through the sweater, blood pulsing in his groin.

She shrugs, abruptly nonchalant.

“Mostly, I was just looking forward to being warm.”

“I can think of one way to warm you up,” he pledges.

 _Trust me_ , he mentally urges. _Right now. Trust me like you trusted me to keep you on your feet on the rink when your legs wouldn’t remember how to skate right away_.

“Good, because I need you.”

“Say it again?” Peter requests, hand on the back of her head as she raises it from his shoulder.

“I need you, Peter.”

MJ’s hand jumps from his thigh straight into his lap and squeezes him through his jeans. He crushes their mouths together, the two of them breathing in hot pants like they can warm each other that way. Making to move over her, he’s pushed back instead, winded from more than the shove as his girlfriend straddles him with the practiced efficiency of a quickie before Spidey patrol or as an incentive between study breaks. When she rolls her hips against his… shit, she might observe Christmas on the 25th, but the friction of her grinding on his dick is the only Christmas he’ll ever need to celebrate. He plunges both hands deep into her hair to seal their mouths together and slumps into the couch, offering maximum opportunity for her to rock that beloved place between her legs along his erection. He’s already feeling warmer.

“No,” she yelps when he tries to push her sweater off. She snatches it back on _and_ pulls the blanket up over her shoulders. “I’m still cold.”

“Ok. Let’s work on that.”

Peter tilts his chin up in invitation and repositions his hands on MJ’s ass. When she kisses him in a slow brush, he begins forcing her back and forth over his lap. He groans into her mouth to feel her angle her hips just right and shiver. Not letting her back down, he grips her and drags her across his erection repeatedly, until she can’t kiss him anymore, until her forehead’s pressed hard to his and she’s hissing his name. The oscillation of her hips in his hands is hypnotic, even with his eyes closed. He’s groaning and trying to hold back, having a hard time concentrating on an idea of what to do next to get his girlfriend off before he reaches that point himself. He wants her warm skin against his when he sinks inside her, not a sudden gush in his jeans.

Still grinding, MJ sits up straighter. She doesn’t take her sweater off, but she pulls down the front of the camisole she wears under it and tucks the material below her bared breasts. Peter’s happy to enjoy the visual while he rubs her over his dick, but she grips the back of his neck and compels his head forward.

“What do you want exactly?” he teases. “I’m a little confused.”

Eye narrowed down at him as she pants, MJ plucks one of his hands from her ass and guides it up to her face. It fucks him up pretty good when she folds down all but two of his fingers, sliding those into her mouth; she sucks with that almost-angry gaze locked on him before bringing his wet fingers down to circle her nipple.

“Ok, ok,” Peter says desperately.

“Just helping.”

A laugh pops out of his mouth, but then he touches his lips to her breast, kissing lightly as she sways. Her hand twitches on the back of his neck. _Ok_ , he thinks again, pulling her nipple between his teeth. MJ moans blissfully and heat floods both Peter’s face and his groin. He jerks roughly against her and clutches her body close when she comes, cradling his face to her chest. There’s still something of the briskness of their walk home to her smell as he inhales against her skin, but also wool and the smoke that’s clung to her after lighting the candles. Her scent is rich. He _feels_ rich, with his arms wrapped around her.

She shimmies her shoulders and the blanket drops. When she slips out of her sweater, Peter rushes to tear his hoodie (and the t-shirt caught up with it) off. MJ halts him in the act of flinging them away; right, candles. Gotta aim for a spot where he won’t start a fire. He unbuttons and unzips his jeans as quickly as he can, gasping in relief at the sudden extra room for the erection bulging beneath his boxers. His plan, as he hooks his thumbs into his waistband, is to yank his clothes down only as far as necessary, then guide MJ back on top of him as soon as she’s out of her sweatpants and pick up where they left off with her first orgasm. But, bottomless, his girlfriend settles on his lap before he’s ready. She shuffles forward, rubbing herself against him, making his boxers damp. Peter closes his eyes as they roll back. His hands skim blindly up her arms to fiddle with the slipping straps of the camisole she still wears—if the way it’s clinging to her from only below her breasts to her navel can be called ‘wearing’.

She kisses his cheek.

“Peter.”

He opens his eyes and watches her tilt her head to speak quietly near his ear. Candlelight seeps over and through her hair. He kisses where it pools on her naked shoulder and her soft breaths form words.

“I want you to bend me over.”

Peter turns his head and groans into MJ’s neck.

Running her fingers through his hair, she asks, “Is that a yes?”

“’Chelle, you say, ‘jump,’ I ask, ‘how high?’” he promises.

He whips a condom out of his pocket. She draws back and smirks at him, eyebrows raised.

“And how did that get in there?”

“I might’ve grabbed it while I was looking for the matches.” When his girlfriend continues to stare at him, he adds, “It’s dark! You were lighting candles! I dunno, MJ, it seemed kinda romantic. Why are you still looking at me like that?”

“You’re cute when you babble.”

“Stop talking,” Peter interprets with a sheepish smile. “Got it.”

She climbs off of him and stuffs the blanket into the corner of the couch while he stands and whisks his jeans and boxers down his legs. He almost trips peeling his socks off because MJ waggles her bare ass at him very unfairly.

“Come on, I’m getting cold.”

“I’m—” he starts, struggling with the condom. “I am… I’m going as fast as… there!”

Peter bounds onto the couch and catches MJ’s face in his hand, kissing her lovingly. Then desperately. Then sloppily pulling away to sneak a hand under the back of her top and press her down until her elbows rest on the arm of the couch. Taking a deep breath, he strokes his other hand from the back of her neck all the way to her ass. This is kinda hot with her shirt still on. He’s glad that, for as much as they discuss and debate things like the misuse of municipal funds on holiday decorations, they’re still in their hasty days. Still young, still eager. He grips himself and flexes his fingers as he traces the head of his dick through MJ’s arousal.

“Getting cold,” she repeats.

“Spider-Man is here to help, ma’am,” he jokes, pushing inside her.

 _Fuck_. Peter works his hips gently forward and back, building up to plunging deeper the same way he tiptoes out into the water when they visit the beach too early in the year. But this isn’t like the chilly springtime ocean because she’s warm as she takes him—so, so warm.

“Uh, MJ? Baby? Sweetheart? I thought you said you were cold,” he grits out.

She presses back against him as he finally thrusts all the way in.

“I always keep the home fires burning for you.”

“Well, that was raunchy. You’ve been living with me too long.”

“How could I ever move out with perks like a December power outage?”

Grinning, Peter begins a loose swing of his hips, gazing down MJ’s back at the shadows and light sliding over the rounded edges of her neck, her shoulder blade, her ear as she tips her head to let her hair hang to the side. When her low moans start, he repositions his knees on the couch cushions and digs in with his toes. The wet smack of driving into her is loud in their little sanctuary. He takes her by the hips as she bows her head to her crossed forearms, moving faster, gliding in and out with more grace than he has when navigating an ice rink with skate blades on his feet. MJ spreads her legs wider and drops her head even lower. _She_ is graceful, with the steep slope of her back that Peter can’t resist pressing a hand to. At his touch, she bends even further and he chokes on an already raspy inhalation.

“Faster, Peter,” she requests.

Not loud, not demanding. She knows he can hear her because he’s always listening for her voice. It coaxes him onward from beneath the urgent slap of his thrusts.

He hunches over her, wrapping one arm around her waist as they buck together, his other hand diving between her legs. She’s soaked and her hips are jumping in time with his, so it’s hard to keep his fingers on her swollen clit. Suddenly, MJ has her hand over his, directing his fingers. Reality grows hazy as pleasure creeps into his thighs and trickles invisibly down his stomach, like the phantom touch of his girlfriend beneath him. Peter squints against the light of their candles and so much feeling, flicking his fingers over the sensitive nub that has MJ’s legs quivering. He kisses her spine and scrapes the edge of her camisole with his teeth. She’s shaking too hard to thrust back. Groaning, Peter bucks in a quick burst, holding her body up as she threatens to slump flat.

“You warm yet?” he huffs. “Show me you’re warm.”

“Peter… almost.”

Abruptly, he sits back on his heels, hauling MJ with him. Sweating now, Peter bounces her on his lap. His hands squeeze the smooth skin of her hips. She gasps before moaning deeply and reaching up to wrap an arm behind his neck, arching against him.

“God,” he mutters, looking down over her shoulder to watch the jiggle of her breasts and the tension of her stomach, “I already want you again.”

Because of his words, or his hands, or his cock slamming up into her, she climaxes, clenching around him and stuttering over his name. Peter buries his nose in her hair to avoid the overpowering scent of the candles as his senses sharpen to the finest point; he’s learned this only happens when he’s lost in either the pain of a grave injury or the satisfaction of releasing into MJ. He pulses, hips snapping, hugging her against his chest, flushed with warmth from the top of his ears to where his toes grip the couch.

“Bath?” Peter pants in her ear, dick still twitching inside her. “I swear I won’t let you get cold.”

Just like that, the overhead light and the lamp on the end table blink on. Huh. Power’s back.

“Or maybe you don’t need me to,” he says.

MJ turns her head and kisses the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t be stupid. I’ll grab the candles. You hit the lights.”


End file.
